Page 78 of One Last Thing Before You Go

You should’ve seen them ten years ago, I almost say. But I don’t want to remind him of our age gap or think of how much better I looked when I was younger. So I crawl towards him instead, needing him inside me. Wanting to forget everything that isn’t us, now.

“No. On your knees, hands on the headboard.” His voice is almost a growl. I inhale sharply, staring wide-eyed. “Now.”

I scramble to get into position as I feel the bed dip behind me. Not long after, I feel the heat of his body as he scoots below me between my legs, his arms wrapping around my thighs, holding me by the hips as he lines his mouth just below my core. I claw at the headboard, feeling his tongue tease me, swirling patterns on my inner thigh.

Whimpering, hips moving, aching to feel his tongue on me, in me, anything to relieve this need.

“Please,” I beg. “Please.” Legs shaking, I can barely breathe as I wait for him to do something, anything.

He chuckles against me, hot breath on my wet folds, and I can’t help the moan that bursts through my lips when he finally, finally presses his lips to them. His kisses me deeply there as if it were my mouth. Like fucking. Kissing that feels like fucking.

And I’m a mess, rocking on his face, wanting more, needing more, crying out when he presses his tongue flat against my clit. I’m hot and cold and my world shatters around me but makes sense at the same time as he laps at me, tastes me. I call out his name once, which makes him growl and tighten his grip on one thigh, before I feel him release my other.

I barely notice the way the bed begins to shake, off-beat from my own rocking. In a fog, I look over my shoulder to see his left hand move furiously up and down, wrapped around his cock as he tongues me. Suddenly, the need to have him in my mouth and pussy at the same time overpowers me. I make to move, to reposition myself, which he isn’t happy about. “What are you—?” Until he realizes what I’m doing, that is. “Fuck, yeah,” he groans, helping me turn over his face, growling into my pussy as I fold over his body.

It’s clumsy at first as I try to balance myself over him while working him with my mouth. It’s nearly impossible not to lose my focus when he hooks a finger inside me when he sucks on my clit. I don’t know how I manage, but I do. On shaking arms and legs, I feel the intense satisfaction of what it means to please and be pleased at the same time. To understand what it’s like to drive someone crazy as you’re being driven to your wit’s end. It’s like a vicious cycle of giving and taking and it takes over my entire mind and every other sense in my body beside touch and sound have taken a back seat. All I can think of are his hands and tongue on me, the noises he makes from between my thighs, and I can barely stand it any longer. It’s building, I’m building, and then I’m falling in his arms, between his legs, as he pumps his hips up into me and falls at the same time.

The soft click of a camera wakes me the next morning. I open one eye to catch his lens aimed at me, a sly grin on his face. Groaning, I roll onto my other side and bury my face in my pillow. It smells like sex and sweat and Knox.

“You’re being a total creep,” I say, my voice muffled by the pillow.

He laughs softly as I hear him place the camera back on the nightstand, dipping into bed and pulling my back to his bare chest. “I don’t think it’s creepy.”

“It’s totally creepy.” But I smile into the pillow. “I’m sorry I fell asleep last night while watching the movie.”

“It’s okay,” he says with a shrug, placing a kiss on my bare shoulder. “The book was better than the movie, anyway.”

“The books are always better than the movies.” I yawn, relishing in the soreness I feel in almost every muscle in my body.

“Speaking of books,” he says between open-mouthed kisses on my skin, “would you like your e-reader back now?”

I struggle to keep my breathing level, to not let him distract me as his tongue begins to travel between my breasts, circling first my right nipple, then my left.

“I told you,” I swallow once, trying not to let him see how affected I am by his ministrations. “Keep it for now. You can learn a thing or two from fictional men.” Although, I currently have zero complaints.

He pinches my side and I jump, laughing.

Thankfully, he stops what he’s doing—at least temporarily—so I can finish a coherent thought. “I don’t need to read books with sex, Knox. I just enjoy them. And if I happen to crave reading one, Henry Cavill and I can just use the app on my phone.” I shrug. He raises a perfect eyebrow before asking, “The guy from The Witcher?”

Jesus Christ.

“He’s not doing the show anymore, but yes. And he was also Superman. Not to mention Charles on The Tudors, but you might be too young to remember that show.”

He grimaces, but otherwise ignores my comment about his age. “What does he have to do with your dirty books?”

“Don’t call them dirty,” I say defensively. “Calling them that implies that sex is wrong or something, and it’s not. It’s completely natural and can be part of a healthy relationship or just for fun. As we both know, it’s not just for procreation purposes.” It took me a while to get back to thinking of sex in that way; as something that wasn’t just about making a baby, but something enjoyable too. Not that I’ve had very much of it since my divorce (at least before Knox came around). But it felt good to reclaim that part of myself. Of my body. Sex is more than just about having kids.

“Well, I know that.” He smirks. “But I get what you’re saying. The word association isn’t deserved. What should I call the book genre, then?”

“Spicy?”

“Gotcha.” He laughs once before dipping his head to kiss and bite my clavicle once. “But you still haven’t answered my question. What does Henry Cavill have to do with your spicy books?”

I blush and laugh, burying my face in his chest. I run my hands up and down his biceps, over his tattoos, each one telling a story I’m dying to hear but for some reason can’t bring myself to ask about. Like I’m too scared to know him even more. Like I feel the need to leave at least one part of him uncovered.

“It’s what I named my vibrator,” I finally tell him, my hands traveling all over his chest.

His eyes widen for a split second before he bursts out into laughter. “Are you saying you named your vibrator? Is that something women do?”